"What of the troops from Margolan?" Soterius said, frowning.

"Jared may send several hundred soldiers. It is not, however, the number that I find of concern," the cowled woman said, "it is their tactics. Arontala has prepared each group with specific knowledge about our strongholds. Some his mages burned, setting so many fires and speeding them with pitch that we had no choice but to abandon the structure. Even mages have their limits. We were unprepared. At another, his mages diverted a river, sweeping the building away.

"In each case, the mages could have saved themselves. But Arontala knew we would protect the villagers, and in doing so, be unable to fully protect ourselves. We lost many villagers and Sisters, and abandoned several of our strongholds. We have also lost libraries, artifacts, and magical items which can't be replaced." She spread her gnarled hands, palms up, in a gesture of frustration. "Each attack grows stronger. In the last two, Jared sent dark mages with the troops. Disarming their magic kept the Sisters busy while the siege troops did even greater damage."

"How can we help?" Mikhail asked.

The Sister inclined her head. "This citadel has many defenses of its own, and we have trained our villagers. But dark mages can play havoc with simple things. In one tower, the defenders were prepared to pour down boiling oil on the attackers, only to have the pot wrested from their hands by magic and poured upon their own people. We know his mages will find ways to challenge our protections. The battle must not be our villagers against the troops while the Sisters fight the mages. We have to find a way to stop his mages, and then rout his troops."

"I'm all for that," Soterius agreed.

There was a dry chuckle from beneath the cowl. "Good. Then you can help us plan."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A heavy fog lay over the land the next evening. Soterius and Mikhail watched from the citadel's highest point while the Margolan troops took their places. Soterius wrapped his own cloak tighter around himself against the cold winds. As Fallon had predicted, several hundred soldiers were encamped against the citadel.

"I don't like this." Soterius looked down at the ring of soldiers. He had made that comment more times in the last few candlemarks than he could remember.

"They've got to be relying on their mage," he added, surveying the soldiers. "It's as if they're waiting for us to come out."

"They have a plan."

Within a candlemark, one of the Sisters had returned with news that the citadel's water was tainted. "We protected the ground around the tower," she explained, "but the water springs from a river beneath the ground. A water mage could easily have caused it to be fouled before it ever reached our protections."

"That cuts down our time," Soterius said soberly.

The Sister shook her head. "It's bad, but not hopeless. We've stored some water, wine and ale. Two of our water mage sisters are trying to purify water from the pump. They can't extend their powers far enough to cleanse the spring where it has been fouled. It will be a hardship, because they can only purify a few barrels at a time. And it diverts their powers from other uses."

Just then, another Sister joined them. Her robes were stained with mud and smelled of the stables; dirt streaked her face and hands. "There is madness among the animals," she reported. "None have seen its like. It is, I fear, mage sent. Two villagers were killed before we realized what was wrong. Sittra is there now to see what can be done. We can barely contain the beasts, and we don't dare slaughter any for food."

"They've made the first strike," Soterius grumbled.

"Our land mage has been busy himself. Do you hear that?" Fallon asked, leading Soterius over to the thick wall.

He concentrated, straining to hear beyond the citadel's heavy fortifications. Then he heard it, a constant, steady cawing of crows. "Crows?" he asked, frowning. "How many crows does it take to make that much racket?"

Fallon smiled. "The ground is black with crows. They are clever birds; they elude the soldiers'

arrows. They will foul the tents with their droppings, and their noise will be a constant annoyance."

"Why don't you just call down wolves and be done with them?" Soterius asked disparagingly.

"We won't call the wolves to their slaughter. Although I believe you'll hear them, beyond archers' range. And come dusk, our guests may see a cloud of bats like never before."

"Your mage talks... to bats?" Soterius said dubiously.

"A land mage can 'speak' to all things living, and persuade them to aid his cause."

"Persuade?" Soterius questioned. "He gives the bats a choice?"

"That's the difference between a mage that serves the light, and one that serves darkness. A Light mage doesn't force any living thing to act against its will, or take from the land and seas what can't be given back."

. "When you're done asking the bugs for permission," Soterius replied, "We'll be down teaching the villagers to fight."

Soterius and Mikhail found the villagers in the enclosed courtyard milling about nervously, several dozen in all, their few belongings tied up in sacks. The villagers greeted them heartily. Every able-bodied person who was not needed to suckle a child or tend an elder heeded the call to arms. For several candlemarks, Soterius and Mikhail trained them in the basics of castle defense. They separated those who could serve best as lookouts from those strong enough to help defend the gates. Together they worked with the villagers until the late evening bells tolled.

As the sound of the bells faded, Soterius paused. At first, he took the distant humming for the constant noise of the birds. But within a few seconds the hum became a roar, a force battering against the double wooden doors of the courtyard. "There's something out there trying to get in!" one of the villagers cried.

Once again, the wind roared and something hammered again at the doors. "Quiet everybody!" Soterius shouted above the din. "Quiet!"

"We're going to move for higher ground," Soterius explained in his calmest voice. "Let's start to move quickly to the stairs—"

The doors gave way.

A rush of freezing air swept through the courtyard, nearly taking men off their feet. As screaming villagers scrambled over each other to reach the stairs, the air began to swirl, growing colder and colder. "I don't know what it is, but I'm not staying to find out!" Soterius shouted above the din as Mikhail struggled to herd the last of the villagers into the main citadel building. Soterius signaled frantically to a few stragglers who were attempting to lug their packs with them.

The swirling wind caught up the debris in the courtyard like the tornados that sometimes laid waste to the Margolan plains. Bits of straw, splinters of wood, and shards of broken glass were hurtling through the air, embedding in the wooden posts.

"Come on!" Soterius urged, hanging onto the door. The two stragglers, realizing their folly, began to run, their path blocked by the swirling wind that kept even Mikhail from intervening.

Soterius's eyes grew wide as the icy spiral seemed to anticipate the stragglers' lunge for freedom. He threw up an arm to protect himself as the vortex enveloped the stragglers. Their screams filled the air; blood spattered the courtyard walls as the violent wind cut them to ribbons. Soterius threw his weight into closing the massive inner door, praying to the Goddess that it might withstand the onslaught. Mikhail joined him, adding his supernatural strength. Together, they managed to seal the door and throw the bolts just as the wind slammed into it.

"What was that?" Soterius asked breathlessly. Beyond the door, the vortex howled. In the hallway, babies screamed and children shrieked in terror, while the villagers, still clinging to their weapons, flattened themselves against the opposite wall, their faces pale with fright.